In France for his career, Rin gets close to a young lady— a little French charm included.
⚠️ Warnings: I'm drawing inspiration from real French habits, with a little touch of clichés.
Pairing: Rin Itoshix fem!reader
“Sorry, I'm late.” You say, as you enter the café. “Traffic.” you smile, hanging your purse on the chair before leaning toward him.
Rin froze.
“What the hell are you doing?!” he snapped, instinctively pressing himself back against his chair, his expression tightening in immediate discomfort.
You pull back just as quickly. “Bah...the bise. You know, mwa mwa.” you explain, tuning your head slightly from one side to the other.
“Can't we greet like normal people ?”
“We do greet like this in France. You say, “Okay, less since COVID, but still. With friends, family, relatives, sometimes coworkers.”
“We're none of those.”
Yikes. That was rude.
You’re left speechless for a moment, praying no one saw or heard that remark—no, that biting storm—you just got hit with. You should have expected that. After all, la bise isn’t for everyone. And Rin, on top of not being familiar with the custom, is the exact opposite of a tactile person.
"Fair enough,” you admitted, more embarrassed than you already were. “Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. For me, it's a habit.”
Despite that cringe-worthy start, the date went well. Not that the conversation was balanced— you probably accounted for ninety-five percent of the talking while he sticks to his usual silence. But he watched. A lot. Watched the way your hands move when you speak, the coquettish flutter of your eyelashes, your glowing skin, your quiet confidence.
You’re not just beautiful—you’re elegant. Poised. Annoyingly so. Everything about you is designed to captivate: from the small silk scarf tied around your neck—Hermès, most likely— to your English, shaped by French phrasing.
He shouldn't have agreed to see you again.
But he did.
Are you persuasive, or just persistent? Either way, Itoshi Rin ends up letting you initiate him to that greeting. Does it still bother him? Mmmmm, yeah. Personal space is sacred to him. A family thing, apparently. And the whole concept of la bise still makes no sense to him.
And yet, he’s here. Rigid on the sofa, not leaning against the backrest or the mustard yellow cushions.
“Naaaaaahh,” you wave it off. “You have to make the sound. Or it's cringe.”
“It is cringe.” He shoots back.
Even with the sound." He shoots back.
Your eyebrow arches, a suspicious look on your face, “Why’d you ask me to show you, then?”
His back straightens even more.
“ ...Just tell me how to do it.”
You’d love to tease him, but you’re still figuring out how. Just enough to get his attention, without pushing him to shut down even more. Or he’ll be harder to open up than a tightly sealed pistachio.
“Lips in ass-of-chicken shape. Then—”
He turned his head so fast it was almost aggressive. “Lips in what?!”
“Ass-of-the-chicken shape. Or heu, maybe butt-of-a-chicken shape. This.” You pucker your lips.
“Work on your English.” he exhales. “It’s ‘pouting lips.’ Or ‘duck face’. Not..why do you even call it that?”
You frown, unapologetic. “It's look like a chicken butt."
“Uh-hum.”
“What do you call it in Japanese?” You don’t care, you just want to hear what he sounds like speaking Japanese.
“…アヒル口. Literally duck mouth.”
Oh... You’re going to just devour him.
“Cute. He raises an eyebrow, and you go on. “So, la bise: pouting lips, suck inward—mwa! In Paris,” of course, you drop the ‘s.’, “you start on the right. If you're uncomfortable— which you obviously are, you can only do one. People aren't strict anymore about the number.”
Pff! As if there were a chance he’d actually do it. He’s never gonna mwa mwa someone's cheeks… except yours. Occasionally. Rarely. Maybe.
“The number isn’t the same everywhere?”
“A pertinent question,” You snap your fingers like a lecturer. “And the short answer is no. The French wouldn’t be The French if they were simple.”
You don’t know how much you’re taking the words right out of his mouth. “Show me again.”
You widen your eyes, but don’t tease. In a swift, catlike motion, your body lunges forward, near to his. When he shifts back a little because your knees touch, you lean in even closer, as if he were making more room for you. Now, your hands are brushing against each other, too.
“Right first, mwa” you murmur, “Then left, mwa.”
The black haired guy doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Your face is just there. The sweetness of your perfume makes his nose scrunch. And that carmin on your lips is—
“…Annoyin',” he comments.
Before he can overthink it, he leans forward. Stiffer than a toothpick. Your cheeks brush. And just when you least expected it, the shyest, most hesitant “mwa” echoes. A little hiccup escapes you, quickly turning into a soft chuckle. Having Rin make that sound… It’s both hilarious and cute.
He frowns. “Stop…!” Your hand flies to your mouth .“I forbid you.” He starts sulking.
Twenty-two years old. Six foot one. And he’s sulking. The same guy who curses his opponents for ten generations during games.
“Sorriii! It was just so cute.”
Rin pulled back instantly, jaw tight. “'m not cute." You press your lips together, trying—and failing—not to smile.
A brief silence settles. He looks away. You study him for a second—the slight roundness of his cheek in profile, the pink tips of his ears, that little-sibling vibe he’s giving off right now.
“…We’re only doing one.”
“That goes without saying”. Once again, that flirty mocking tone of yours.
Definitely cute. You don’t say it, of course. You value your life.
I literally previewed this years ago and it's just been sitting in my drafts collecting dust. I feel like I'll publish some of my other drafts too when I get a chance, just cause I've been feeling like writing, and this couple lives in my mind rent free. So keep a look out if it interests you!
This takes place between chapters 19-20 of BMTR!
BMTR on FF.net and AO3
Read this story and the collection on FF.net and AO3
Content warning: there is suggestive content in this (but not explicit). Please be mindful!
Enjoy!
Heat. It embodied the room that blissful summer afternoon, where the sunbeams fired through the glass windows and cast the queen's study in an idyllic kaleidoscopic glow.
Closing the curtains was little to no respite, for there was little light without the hearth burning, and so they opted to leave them open, sacrificing any chance of a chill for the light needed to get through their planning.
With the wedding only weeks away, it was crucial for the young couple to go over the plans. Though there were more than a dozen on staff working to ensure their wedding ceremony and reception were worthy of royalty, Zelda and Link needed to approve every little detail, from the greenery in the centerpieces to the inlays of dishware and the embroidery on the napery.
Though Zelda was well-versed in such drab subjects, Link found that the heat of the room matched with the utterly boring topics made it impossible to focus.
Instead, he found himself looking at her.
A bead of sweat formed at her hairline and trickled down her temple, heading for her jaw before her hand intercepted. It was swept away by her index finger, dressed in a satin glove, and he absently wondered how she wasn't boiling.
Zelda always wore what must've been pounds of fabric, but he hadn't ever thought about what a nuisance it would be on such a hot and heavy day. Not that he was one to talk, given that he was typically dressed in layers of armor. But that day, fortunately, he'd opted for a simple blouse and cotton trousers.
"Given the surplus of blue samples Chancellor Foster has provided, I'm inclined to believe that he has a preference. It is the color of our crest, after all. However, I personally favor the simplicity of ivory," Zelda said, flipping through the square samples of silk. "What do you think?"
After receiving no response, she turned to look at her fiancé and instantly caught his distant gaze and parted lips. With an annoyed sigh, she dropped her hands to her lap.
"Link."
He flinched. "Huh?"
"Have you listened to a word I said?"
"Something about blue, I think." Her brow arched. He winced. "I'm sorry. It's just too hot to focus. Aren't you hot?"
With another sigh, she fanned herself with the samples. The heat was a tad bothersome. Hazarding a glance out the window behind them, she was blinded by the sunlight and had to squint to avoid the glare.
"I suppose it is quite hot."
Resigned, she set the samples on the table and swung her braid over a shoulder, inadvertently revealing to him the stretch of bare skin from her jaw to her shoulder.
Link tensed. His eyes caught on another bead of sweat as it traveled down the elegant slope of Zelda's neck. The sudden urge to sweep it away with his tongue surged through him.
It disappeared down the neckline of her dress, and he was only half-aware of licking his lips before their eyes met again. Suddenly, Link realized how intently Zelda watched him watching her.
"What is it?"
"No - Nothing."
She leveled him with a no-nonsense look. He winced again.
"It's just -"
Gnawing on his lip, his eyes swept over her face. He reached out to her and Zelda went still as she watched his hand slowly inch towards her. When his fingertips sank into her hair, soft and gentle, her breath caught. His thumb then stretched to her brow and wiped a bead of sweat off her temple.
Her eyes were the only part of her that moved. They flitted between his and Link had the familiar sense that somehow, someway, she could read every thought in his mind.
With the gentlest touch, his hand moved along her jaw, all the way down to her chin. His jaw set as he looked at her, the warrior within briefly flashing through as he appeared to deliberate on something.
Then, Zelda watched him lean forward and kiss her.
In the otherwise silent study, their lips clicked, a soft, repetitive noise that was soothing if not a little erotic. It felt like he was melting into her: the languid movement of her mouth, the warmth of her kiss, the heat of her seeping into him.
It made him soft and malleable, but he was ready and willing to melt into a puddle of wax if it was under her flame.
When they parted and her eyes fluttered open, she saw that Link was already looking at her with something between reverence and caution.
"Is that okay?" he murmured softly, like a secret.
Unable to find her voice, Zelda simply nodded. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips before he took her in another kiss.
Her hand hovered uncertainly before resting on his neck. She could feel him shift on the sofa, could feel his shin brushing against her knee. The thought of just his leg touching hers made her shiver.
How would it feel when she could have more of him? All of him?
Her hand slid upwards, threading into his hair, and cradled the nape of his neck. She heard him make a soft groan; she felt it rumble through her chest.
He withdrew just a hair's width apart. Zelda's lips were swollen and wet, her eyes in a daze. It made it impossible to pull away any further.
"Goddesses, I can't get enough of you," he breathed.
She swallowed and licked her lips, and the brief glimpse of her tongue made his stomach leap. "You have me," she murmured. "At least for the next half hour."
A sudden laugh burst out of him, taken off guard, and she let herself smile with him.
"Well, if that's all..."
He kissed her again, and it felt like they could sink into each other. It just felt right, in a way that nothing else ever had.
With a tilt of his head, he inched closer when suddenly, something wet flitted across his lips. His mind was whipped by a sudden dizzy spell. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to keep himself upright.
But he recovered quickly and parted his lips, if only to not miss the chance at feeling her tongue against his. The slick slide of her tongue against his introduced a whole slew of sensations and desires previously unknown to them.
There was a haze as they parted, mouths wet and breath warm. If he thought it was hot before, he was burning now. What was she doing to him? Was she in control of the weather, too?
He took hold of one of the locks that framed her face and eased it over her shoulder. Leaning in, he held her gaze until he was too close and pressed a soft kiss to the point where her neck met her shoulder.
Zelda gasped lightly, letting her eyes fall shut and her head loll back. "Link," she sighed.
He'd only recently realized how much he enjoyed kissing her neck, how he loved being nestled into the crook of it and enveloped by her familiar scent. He wasn't often afforded the opportunity, but now that he had, he didn't want to squander it.
Link took a deep breath through the nose before dragging his warm and wet mouth up the column of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. When he found her pulse point, he kissed her again and sucked lightly on her skin.
"Link."
Her voice was devoid of breath. She felt like she was melting. She'd never known pleasure like this.
With her hands still coiled around his neck, she began tugging blindly at her gloves. As lost as he was, he could only partially register what she was doing. It wasn't until they dropped to the sofa behind him and she dragged her bare hands over the sides of his face that he detached from her.
His cheeks were red – possibly more so than she'd ever seen - and his eyes were dazed. But she reeled him back in, pressing his lips to hers.
He was feeling hotter by the second. It was like the fire that'd been building for months was unleashed, swirling around them like a fiery inferno, making it hard to breathe, to speak.
He was so distracted by her mouth that he almost didn't notice her hands moving downward. Almost.
He flinched - partly due to the light touch but more so for its precarious position. His fingernails dug into the settee, almost certain that he'd tear through the damask fabric.
"What're you - " he started. But then her hands reached his waistband and he choked on a gasp. He bit his lip to keep from making any more undignified noises.
Zelda's eyes searched his face, from his wide-eyed gaze to the bright red in his cheeks, to the bite of his lower lip. In part, she was expecting him to tell her to stop or even push her hand away. Yet, though she could see that he was flustered, he waited with bated breath.
Since she wasn't quite so daring to take his shirt off, Zelda tucked her hands beneath his blouse and slid them over his lower stomach. His sharp exhale was immediate. She'd never touched him like this before; neither of them had ever dared to venture beneath the other's clothes.
Now that she had, Link didn't know if he could live without it. Her hands were so soft and gentle against his skin. Electricity crackled beneath her fingertips, setting every thrilling nerve alight. He'd surely lose his mind – or his dignity - right there on the couch.
In awe, he stared into her eyes as her hands moved over his abs, then up to his pectorals, roaming just for the feel of his taut chest beneath her feather-light touch.
There was something especially exhilarating about the satisfaction on her face, the short catch of her breath as she passed over every ridge. Just thinking that she enjoyed it - enjoyed him - made him ache.
"Zelda..."
Her eyes shot up to his. There was only a brief moment before their mouths met again. Link leaned forward as Zelda leaned back, sinking into the sofa with him above her. The insinuating position didn't elude either of them, but their need for one another momentarily superseded their caution.
His tongue swept across her lips, and she moaned – moaned - into his mouth. Link shuddered as if it'd rippled through him.
He wanted her. Goddesses alive, he wanted her.
He tore himself back for a moment to catch his breath, but even then he was gasping her name. She arched into him in an instinctive need for more, her hands planted against the wall of his chest.
Link suppressed a primal groan before their lips returned to one another. She must've known what she was doing to him - must've known it was about to get really embarrassing for him if they didn't stop immediately.
"We-We can't…"
But for the first time, Zelda considered the fact that she might disregard all rules of conduct and propriety. She couldn't see how she could stop kissing him or stop touching him or stop him from touching her.
It was impossible.
Her thoughts bartered, her desire desperately suppressing her conscience by any means necessary. Link was her fiancé. Their wedding was weeks away – it wouldn't be completely intolerable, would it? No one might ever know.
When Zelda drew back, she murmured, "Link," before her voice was smothered by another kiss.
There was a knock at the door. The duo froze, their eyes opening in unison.
They were in her study. Goddess, she forgot they were in her study. Link wrenched himself off her, toppling backward from the momentum, and Zelda shot straight up.
She started to straighten herself out, and Link was fixing his shirt and his hair, but then there was another knock, followed by the familiar voice of her advisor. "Your Majesty?" he asked through the door. "Are you in there?"
A little shaken, she replied, "Y-Yes. Just a moment." She slipped on her gloves, grabbed the notes she'd taken on their wedding planning, and opened the door.
With the most regal voice she had, she said, "My apologies. We were just finishing up on our selections for the reception."
Link came to her side shortly after. There was a painfully long moment where Councillor Cole inspected them as if he could read right through their lie.
But after a moment, the advisor simply replied with an ushering sweep of his arm. "Of course. But your appointment has been pushed up and we must be on our way if you don't want to be late."
Zelda nodded firmly and hurried ahead, shaken and yet hiding it expertly well. As Link made to leave the room, he was stopped by a firm hand on his chest. He looked at Cole questioningly. The councilor cleared his throat and touched two fingers to his own lips.
Link blinked confusedly and copied the gesture, wiping his lips before noticing the rouge stain smeared onto his fingertips.
His face blanched with realization as Cole simply raised his brows knowingly and stepped away – but not before Link thought he saw an amused smirk on the advisor's face.
Sometimes, Daniel wondered why he put up with Armand. When he went through his phase with the blender, for example. Or when he spent six months recording everything that Daniel did. Or the countless times he woke up to Armand standing above him, watching him like he was some sort of laboratory specimen.
This was not one of those times. Daniel was relaxed in a bathtub, in some luxury hotel he would have never been able to afford a few years prior. Armand was behind him, massaging some sort of wonderful smelling soap into his hair. The water was warm, and the chill of Armand's flesh against his skin felt good. Times like this, when Armand seemed almost human- these were when Daniel loved him the most. He always loved Armand, but it was hard not to hate himself for it when Armand was terrorizing him.
"Why don't we do this more often?" Daniel asked, taking a sip of the wine Armand had given him. Something sweet, no doubt so he could taste it in Daniel's blood later. "You're good at this. If vampires had jobs, yours could be a masseuse."
Cuz it's creature drabble time at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Club Discord.
211 words.
He’d let Hagrid buy the owl without thinking it through properly. Impossible, really, to think any of it through, at least not in the midst of it. Not in Diagon Alley.
A history. A heritage. A future.
A pet.
Magic.
It was only afterwards, back on Privet Drive, his belly low with the unfamiliar weight of a full meal inside of it, that Harry began to have his doubts. The cage too silver-bright, the owl just too beautiful. Alive, like the snake had been.
Does she want things, too?
Harry knew that two ideas could be true at the same time—what he’d been taught by others, and what made sense within his heart. He knew he didn’t deserve her. He knew she deserved the world.
Gunmetal gray, rusted hinge of the window. The owl recoiled at the creak of it when he pushed the screen up.
Easier, but harder, to swing open the cage. He gestured to the dusk outside: she watched with golden eyes.
“It was nice, you know. To meet you. But I don’t think you should stay.”
Leaning forward, the owl bent her snowy head over his knuckles, nipping them gently with her perfect curved beak. She looked up, flapped her wings, and flew out.
